


part me from my heart

by honeyvoiced



Series: ❝ been here before ❞ [1]
Category: Dynasty (TV 2017)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Excessive Drinking, F/F, Mid-season AU, Slow Burn, disdainful mention of previous accidental incest, mention of canon character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 12:46:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17581130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeyvoiced/pseuds/honeyvoiced
Summary: In which Fallon Carrington inadvertently becomes Kirby Anders' sugar mama.





	part me from my heart

**Author's Note:**

> This is set after the ending of 2.11. It'll probably be completely obsolete by the time 2.12 airs!

When Fallon had been in her room for what was going on three hours, Kirby started to grow restless. There were only so many 30-second food videos on Instagram that one could watch before getting tired of holding a phone, after all. She scrolled boredly for another moment, pausing over a video of a rescue pitbull story, then sending it to Cristal before continuing through her feed. Her eyes darted upward as she heard the shuffling sounds of someone rounding the corner from the staircase, scrambling to sit upright and look busy before Fallon came into her view.

 

“Don’t get excited, I’m just getting water,” she mumbled, shuffling past Kirby without so much as glancing at the redhead. Her voice was cracked, gravelly and tired-sounding. She wasn’t sure if it had been the karaoke-rescue or the crying, or a combination of both that caused it. It surprised her to realize that she found herself missing the sharp, if not intimidating clarity that was usually there.

 

The sound of the slippers on the marble floors stopped, behind the couch Kirby was now perched rigidly on the edge of, and she felt the hairs on the back of her neck _crawl_ in the way that could only mean Fallon was glaring daggers into the back of her head. She forced herself not to turn, opting to appear as unaffected as possible.

 

“Are those my Louboutins?”

 

 _There_ it was. That demanding, even awe-inspiring brand of _bitchy_ that no one else seemed to be able to emulate.

 

Fallon rounded the couch quickly, clutching a water bottle in one fist like she planned to use it as a weapon. “They’re mine. Cristal gave them to me.”

 

“Cristal bought you Louboutins.” Fallon repeated, the corner of her mouth curling up slightly in a smug, disbelieving sort of way.

 

“No,” Kirby replied slowly, like she was trying to calm down a stressed out horse. “She _gave_ them to me. They were hers. She said I could have them.” She crossed one leg over the other, almost defiantly, levelling her gaze on the woman standing in front of her.

 

“Let me see.” Fallon demanded, but the words were barely out of her mouth before she was reaching for Kirby’s leg. She yanked herself back as quickly as she could, but Fallon’s reflexes were quicker, despite her obvious exhaustion, and she latched one hand - _claw,_ Kirby thought - tightly around her ankle.

 

“Huh. Guess they are hand-me-downs,” the brunette hummed, letting go so abruptly that Kirby was surprised when the heel didn’t break as her foot hit the floor. “You should see if anyone will extend their charity to getting you shoes that _aren’t_ already ruined. Scoring your shoes ensures that you can never trade them in for something better, not to mention it’s like wearing training wheels. Either learn to walk in heels or try something _easier._ Velcro, maybe.”

 

Opening her mouth to retort angrily, the redhead sat herself back up and went to stand, before a tiny voice in the back of her head stopped her. _If you need a friend. Anything._

 

Right. Maybe what Fallon needed was a punching bag, and as unappealing as that sounded, it _did_ sound like something that would be a nice addition to the mental CV she was building for this potential friendship. _Hey, remember that time when you got dumped on your ass and I let you be as big of a bitch as you wanted because you were so upset? Who else would have stuck it out?_

 

“Sure, Fallon, whatever you say.” Kirby gritted her teeth and sidestepped her to head toward her own room.

 

“You know,” Fallon called after her, “This whole ‘bigger person’ thing looks really inauthentic on you!!”

 

Changing her mind, Kirby turned sharply to head down to the wine cellar instead. It would only be so long until Fallon bounced back to her regular self and they could all carry on as usual. Until then, though, wine.

 

* * *

 

Kirby woke up with a start, her eyes desperately trying to adjust in the darkness of her bedroom while she caught her breath at the same time. She was _not_ in a town car, pulling away from Carrington Manor, her father, and everything she owned. Quite the opposite, in fact. She was fine - albeit, drenched in a cold sweat - back in her own room, in her warm bed, with her father down the hall. For the most part, over the last couple of weeks, her nightmares had been subsiding. Still, the occasional traumatizing memory seemed to creep into her subconscious every once in a while. Sometimes, it was being sent away, others, it was only abstract: a feeling of dread, regret, and the unmistakable sensation of cold steel pressed to her neck that didn’t seem to go away when she woke up.

 

Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and sinking her feet into the plush fur throw beside, Kirby closed her eyes and took a deep breath. In, out, fine. There.

 

Wrenching open the curtains without stopping to look at the time, first, immediately proved itself to be a mistake, as late morning light flooded into the room and burned into her tired eyes unrelentingly.

 

“Shit,” she gasped, turning around quickly and squeezing her eyes shut, trying to blink the spots out of them. Refocusing her vision, she suddenly took note of the box sitting on the bench at the foot of her bed. Lifting the lid revealed a brand new pair of Louboutins - _limited edition_ Louboutins at that.

 

She gingerly lifted one shoe from the box as if it were made of glass, and turned it over in her hands slowly. She certainly had no event invites coming up, and wasn’t made aware of any happenings in the manor that she’d be around for - though that may have been an intentional choice - so a gift seemed oddly timed. The faux-cork design wasn’t Cristal’s style - nor Alexis, or Fallon’s - but the stripe of blue sheen up the lip of each pump was almost as dramatic and eye-catching as the handful of dangerous looking gold spikes at the tip. They were _very_ much her style. Perhaps a little gaudy, but beautiful nonetheless.

 

They looked a little silly with her long pajamas, but she couldn’t resist trying them on for her mirror, spending several minutes posing and admiring them from different angles - which is exactly how her father found her.

 

Mid-complaint about her poor sleeping-in habits, the Carrington majordomo stopped and stood in the doorway, his face turning to one of (slightly suspicious) confusion.

 

“Where did you get those?”

 

“They were a gift,” Kirby chirped back, turning again to the mirror for one last look.

 

“A very generous gift.” he responded, though his disinterest was now apparent in his voice. “Sam is looking for you.”

 

Kirby stepped out of the heels as she was left alone again in her room, picking both up to look at them closely. They were definitely real, though, she rarely expected to find anything else in this house, and definitely picked carefully. It would have to be a mystery for another time, though, she decided, delicately nesting them back into their box and slipping the box itself under her bed.

 

* * *

 

It just so happened that Fallon didn’t need Kirby to be the punching-bag friend. Everyone who happened to step into her path, it seemed, had become the punching-bag friend. Still, with each passing insult that Fallon seemed to hurl at the staff, her own family, whoever - she was clearly settling more and more comfortably back into her old self again. A person that Kirby didn’t think she’d ever miss.

 

Each irritation became a distraction. Her anger was a considerably less powerful emotion than her sadness, but it seemed to do the trick of snapping her back to reality each time.

 

Still, though, Kirby kept an eye on her. Offering a bottle of water here, a top up on her coffee there, a quick little ‘new perfume?’ when the opportunity struck.

 

The reaction was usually either cold silence, or a quick little, “Leave me alone, Kirby.” but a reaction was a reaction, and a distraction was just that.

 

When, days later, Fallon was alone in her parked car on the front drive, Kirby decided a real intervention was in order. Swinging open the passenger door, she climbed into the low two-seater, much to the brunette’s distaste, and turned to her cheerfully.

 

“Why’re you just sitting here by yourself?”

 

“I’m contemplating being seen driving myself anywhere.”

 

“I’ll come with you. Where are we going?” Kirby persisted.

 

“Kirby, I swear to god, if you don’t get out of my car in the next ten seconds, you’ll never be able to get back into it without a pulley system and multiple nurses.”

 

“Sounds kinky, I’m in,” she grinned. “Seriously, where are we going? I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer.”

 

“Would you take this for an answer?” Fallon sighed, not even turning to face the other woman or removing her own sunglasses, as she held out a folded hundred dollar bill.

 

Kirby stared at it long and hard for a moment, before reaching up and covering Fallon’s hand with her own, pushing it back down toward the console between them.

 

“I don’t need your money, but _you_ need a friend. We don’t even have to talk about it. But this way, you won’t be seen out and about looking depressed and lonely right after calling off your engagement.”

 

Fallon shook her hand free, then sighed defeatedly, pressing down on the push-start and doing up her seatbelt.

 

“Fine. But absolutely no talking about it. And don’t wear those sunglasses. Here,” she reached over Kirby’s lap and popped open the glove compartment, pulling out a Gucci case and dropping it lazily into her lap.

 

* * *

 

“So what exactly is this for?”

 

A few days had passed since their nearly-silent shopping excursion, which, despite being in the top three most awkward day trips that Kirby has been on, was a nice excuse to leave the house.

 

The bags that they brought home with them had been laying in the back of Fallon’s closet until that morning, when Kirby had walked into what looked like a hurricane zone where the brunette’s bedroom had once been.

 

“What did I say about having to repeat myself?” Fallon asked from her spot on the floor, digging through piles of fabric and boxes.

 

“That you don’t like to do it. Do it anyway.”

 

Fallon sighed, closing her eyes in frustration for a moment, before saying, slowly and calmly, “I need to get my photos taken to be sent off to the artist to get started on my birthday portrait. The things take _months_ to paint and I don’t want the stress of it getting here the day before, like last year.”

 

“Oh, of course not,” Kirby agreed, the sarcasm in her tone bold. “It wouldn’t be a family birthday party without a 12 foot tall painting of yourself.”

 

Fallon stopped rustling through her purchases to fix the redhead with an unwavering death glare, until she was forced to look away to shuffle some items around as well.

 

“Fine. Tell me what you’re looking for, at least, I can help you find it before your photographer arrives.”

 

Fallon dressed with only moments to spare, rushing downstairs just as Anders let in the photographer and his crew, clutching lights, backdrops, and tripods.

 

“A whole parade for just a few photos, huh?” Kirby noted, but Fallon didn’t bother dignifying her with a response.

 

“Watch the wallpaper!” She exclaimed, instead, click-clicking away in her stilettos as she all but chased the team down to micro-manage.

 

She spent the next forty-five minutes barking orders that Kirby seemed to be able to hear from every room of the house, but when she grew suspiciously quiet, Kirby went to investigate.

 

“Okay, but I don’t _want_ to put my left hand anywhere where it’ll be in the shot. There’s no point reminding everyone that it’s still empty like last year.” Fallon was mid-complaint when Kirby entered the room, her eyes widening and brows raising as she took in the circus of lights and softeners that filled the large room, all focused on Fallon.

 

“Don’t use _either_ of your hands,” Kirby suggested, coming closer as Fallon’s gaze jumped sharply over to her. “It makes you look vain.”

 

“Don’t assume you know what you’re talking about,” Fallon snapped in response, “It makes you look _stupid._ ”

 

“I modelled my way through Ibiza, I think I know what I’m talking about.” Kirby snorted, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms across her chest.

 

“Taking your shirt off for some student’s art-house photo project so you can pay for your next handful of ecstasy isn’t exactly the kind of modelling we’re talking about, here.”

“Shut the fuck up, Fallon.”

 

 _That_ seemed to startle the other woman into stopping what she was doing. Fallon looked up from the monitor she was squinting at, critiquing her own outtakes, and fixed Kirby with an almost bewildered look.

 

Before she could open her mouth and unleash whatever slew of insults and threats she had come up with upon her, Kirby slid past her and the photographer, stepping onto the soft sheet that Fallon had just vacated.

 

“You’re too stiff. This isn’t a staff photo for your new Fortune 500 company. You have to loosen up. You don’t have to be so… _on_ all the time. It’s a photo. You’ll live.”

 

With that, she gestured for the photographer to begin again, and when all Fallon could offer him in response was a confused, if not curious look in Kirby’s direction, he got started.

 

Fallon watched the monitor instead of Kirby, her eyes darting back and forth across the small screen as each new photo popped up of Kirby taking up all the space in the shot that she could.

 

“Another one with your leg popped, that was great,” the photographer from beside her, pausing his shutter-clicks for a moment. “Those are great shoes.”

 

Now, Fallon looked up from the screen, setting it back onto it’s stand and looking at the real version of the woman before her. Her eyes followed her down and landed on her shoes, a tiny smirk flicking across her face and vanishing as quickly as it arrived.

 

“Yeah. _Really_ great shoes. Where’d you get ‘em?” Fallon tilted her head, one eyebrow raised, and Kirby finally stopped what she was doing.

 

The wheels turned in her head almost visibly for a moment before her jaw went slack and she pointed at the brunette.

 

“You were in my room?”

 

“Consider us even.” Fallon remarked, though the sudden playfulness in her tone didn’t go unnoticed.

 

“I don’t think we’re even, I think I owe you.” Kirby said, stepping off of the sheet toward the other woman. “These shoes are almost $700.”

 

“Well I wouldn’t wear anything less than six,” Fallon waved a hand, “and after the shopping disaster you had in Idaho, I don’t trust you being in charge of your own wardrobe if you’re going to be out and about ruining _my_ reputation as well as yours.”

 

“Thank you, Fallon.”

 

“They’re not a gift,” Fallon said sharply, sliding past Kirby to get onto the sheet again herself, “consider them an investment. And also a plea deal. I gave you those, so now you have to throw out anything you own with actual cork.”

 

“Sure, Fallon.” _Sure, Fallon. Whatever you say, Fallon. How high would you like me to jump, Fallon?_  The friendship may have had it’s perks - namely, $700 shoes, but being a doormat was beginning to grow tiresome.

 

Stepping away from the expensive camera equipment to instead treat herself to the makeshift craft services that had been set out, Kirby grabbed two mimosas from the table and waited for the next small series of shots to be out of the way before handing one to Fallon.

 

“Like I said,” she told her, trying to keep her voice as neutral as possible, “Loosen up. Like this.”

 

Standing next to Fallon, the two of them attempted to out-pose one another for a few moments, starting almost serious, competitive, and quickly dissolving into a contest of who get in the front of more shots, all while trying to balance in heels on a rumpled sheet.

 

… And she did loosen up, three mimosas, several dozen photos later, and one almost-broken heel from nearly tripping over set equipment.

 

Perching on the corner of the couch while Kirby sat on the floor with Beau, Fallon watched the crew clean up their equipment and slugged back her fifth mimosa.

 

“I’m so glad that’s over,” she admitted, though Kirby knew it was mainly the champagne and sugar that was making her so conversational. She’d barely said a real full sentence to her that hadn’t been a threat or an insult since Liam had very brutally and _very_ publicly turned her down. Even though the invitation to talk was alcohol-inflicted, it was a nice change. Sweet, even.

 

“I just want to sleep. I feel like I haven’t slept in a year.”

 

“Amen to that.” Kirby lifted her own half-empty champagne flute, air-clinking it to Fallon’s.

 

Fallon scoffed quietly. “All you _do_ is sleep. I don’t think I’ve seen you out of your room before noon a single time since you moved back in.”

 

“I don’t sleep that well. This house is weird.” Kirby replied, albeit a little coldly.

 

“This house is _weird_? You sound so ungrateful.”

 

“Can you name _one_ good event that’s happened in this house? Like, ever?” Kirby fired back, suddenly hearing her own volume out loud and immediately trying to reign it in. She set her glass aside and cleared her throat, trying to maintain some composure before looking up at Fallon.

 

The other woman, however, wasn’t looking at her. Instead, she was squinting, her eyes off to left as she wracked her brain for a good answer.

 

“I guess not. Lotta ghosts.” Looking down into her glass, Fallon considered Kirby’s question one more time before polishing off her mimosa and standing up. “C’mon.”

 

“Where are we going?” Kirby asked, tilting her head back to look even higher up at her in confusion.

 

“My mom’s going to be home any minute and I handle her better when we’re _both_ drunk. Besides, if we’re going to talk about this, we’ll need to get into something stronger.”

 

* * *

 

“I just… felt so caught up in the middle of all the sleuthing and I figured with Claudia’s crazy ass out of the way, everyone else would probably be less-than. No one was giving me enough credit for how much time I spent with L.B., which I know is beside the point, but…” Kirby’s words all tied together at the ends, her eyes growing heavy with the sheer exhaustion of having to retell a story that she felt like she’d been over in her own head a hundred times.

 

“Don’t fall asleep on me.” Fallon’s words were stern, but her voice was soft. “You’re not done.”

 

“I’m not falling asleep!” Kirby insisted indignantly, hoisting herself up and sitting straighter on her end of the giant plush couch that seemed to try to suck her in between the cushions.

 

“Yeah,” Fallon almost laughed, “You are. You can’t even keep your eyes open. Tell me the rest.” She generously refilled Kirby’s not-quite-empty tumbler glass and gestured for her to hurry up.

 

“It’s not a fun story,” Kirby reminded her, but the brunette simply rolled her eyes and waved a hand for her to continue.

 

“Fine - And then he pulled a knife on me and I just… blacked out, honestly. I thought it was my dad that got me out of there but he told me that Manny was already out cold by the time he came in.”

 

She looked up at Fallon again, only to be met with a curious, almost excited look.

 

“And?” Fallon leaned in closer, eyes wide. “That’s it?”

 

“That’s it.” Kirby confirmed, though she immediately felt disappointed in herself for her honest answer, watching the other girl’s face deflate into a somewhat bored look, all of the earlier excitement from the story gone. This was the most positive attention Fallon had given her since she had moved back, it seemed wasteful to let it end so quickly.

 

“I sort of wish he hadn’t told me,” she admitted, feeling her heart stutter when Fallon’s face was animated with interest once again. “I think… I’d feel safer if I thought he’d jumped in and saved me. Knowing it was me, I’m scared. I don’t think I could do it again. Save myself, I mean.”

 

The honesty had just spilled out of her, and when Fallon was silent for a moment too long, she desperately tried to fill the gap in conversation.

 

“I know it’s really stupid -”

 

“It’s not.” The resigned, tired tone to Fallon’s voice surprised Kirby. She seemed… genuinely comforting, as if she was truly trying to level with the other woman for a moment.

 

“I mean. I know what you’re talking about. You didn’t meet my dad’s more recent late wife but… I guess she took care of a few things around here. And as annoying as she was, it was kind of nice knowing that if we were ever under attack, she’d come running - for Steven, too. I don’t think my dad would. And I definitely don’t think my mom would.”

 

“Fallon, your dad would -” Kirby started, but she was cut off.

 

“I don’t think so.” Her tone was dismissive, finite. The conversation was over, and despite how badly it was burning in the back of Kirby’s mind, how many questions she still had, she didn’t push it. Instead, she reached for her glass of scotch, and took a long sip. She watched as Fallon took a sip as well, not wincing, but baring her teeth a little as she tasted the liquor before finishing it. The brunette had told her that when the alcohol stopped burning, it was usually time to quit drinking. The alcohol burn had stopped for Kirby early into her second glass, but she wasn't ready to call it a night and put this conversation to bed, yet. Not when they were making such good headway.

 

“Okay,” Kirby tried slowly, changing direction completely. “What about your friends.” She paused, deciding to test the waters, “Monica, Sam… me?”

 

Fallon gave her a knowing look, but all of the venom from earlier seemed to have melted away from it. Likely from the scotch, but progress nonetheless. “Smooth. And I don’t exactly expect my friends to try to sacrifice themselves just for… me.”

 

Seeming to realize how sad that sounded out loud, she backtracked, adding on, “Which is fine. That’s pretty normal, I guess. But Cristal wasn’t like that. OG Cristal.” She clarified, in case Kirby hadn’t been following along as intently as she had.

 

Kirby watched her, feeling herself sinking back into the couch a little. As foreign as it was to see Fallon this way, this was the most comfortable she’d been in a long time. A roaring fireplace, a bottle of scotch worth more than the last car she’d owned, and a deep conversation to air out issues that had been eating at her - with a _friend._

 

“Yeah, but I don’t necessarily mean _literally_ lay down their lives for you. Just… having people around that want what’s best for you.” Kirby explained, before watching the other woman’s face suddenly fall.

 

“I don’t…” Fallon stared into her scotch glass. Her eyes were dry but her voice wavered. “I don’t think I have anyone like that.”

 

“Of course you do,” Kirby started, but was at a loss momentarily to bring any names to mind that would make a clean case.

 

“Oh yeah?” Fallon challenged, sniffing once. “I _had_ Culhane, and I couldn’t keep us afloat if we were in saltwater, then…” she shuddered, “ _Jeff_ , which, first of all, ew, and second of all, quite the opposite of wanting what was best for me, made it his life’s work to sabotage every aspect of my own. And then…” she stopped, and Kirby felt her own heart sink, knowing that they’d finally breached the subject she’d been waiting for Fallon’s silent streak to end on for ages.

 

“ _Liam._ ”

 

Kirby stayed silent for a moment, almost holding her breath as she waited for the verdict.

 

“What a disaster.” Fallon finally breathed, seeming to have collected her thoughts into one succinct sentence.

 

“Fallon,” Kirby started, slowly, softly, “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

 

“What’s there to talk about?!” she practically exploded, causing Kirby to jump back a little on the couch. “You saw _exactly_ what happened. The entire bar staff saw what happened. Like it wasn’t enough to insist that he was in love with me and change his mind, he had to throw the salt of public humiliation in the wound of rejection.”

 

“So you don’t want to talk about it?” Kirby asked, trying to keep the sarcasm out of her voice and the smirk off of her lips.

 

Fallon turned to her and all but whined, “Shut up.” Resting back against the couch again, she sipped her drink once more and continued, “He was supposed to be the safety net.”

 

“I thought Culhane was the safety net.”

 

“I don’t - I don’t know, it’s not important. Maybe I should swear off of men altogether. I’m going to join a lesbian collective.”

 

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Kirby laughed, her half-smile turning into a grin when she noticed the tiny hint of a smile starting to form on the other woman’s face.

 

“Fine, then, I’ll start my _own_ collective, but you’re not invited. It’ll be weird if too many of us have all slept with the same men.”

 

“Pardon me?” Kirby sat up abruptly, chuckling in disbelief.

 

“... Jeff? Hello?”

 

Kirby snorted. “I didn’t sleep with Jeff.”

 

Fallon rolled her eyes, turning her whole body and pulling her legs up onto the couch as she faced her. “Come _on._ You can’t bullshit a bullshitter. Monica told me.”

 

“Then Monica lied.” Kirby retorted, suddenly frustrated. She paused, hearing her words played back to her, and shook her head. Her friendship with Monica was new. No point rocking the boat with harsh assumptions. “Or more likely, she assumed wrong. I was crashing at Jeff’s for a while. But I didn’t sleep with him. I can see where she’d get the idea, but he’s not exactly my type.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Fallon’s eyes lit up mischievously, and Kirby felt her throat go dry. “What is your type, then?”

 

“I don’t…” _Why_ _was she stuttering and stammering like a little kid?_ “I don’t have a _type_ -type, I just know what I’m not interested in. And I don’t want to, nor have I, had sex with Jeff Colby.”

 

“I’ll get it out of you.” Fallon threatened. Promised? The mischievous grin didn’t leave her face as she took another drink, the whiskey making her bold. “We have ways of making you talk.”

 

Kirby felt like her heart was about to shoot out of her chest, and she looked away quickly, clutching her glass in her suddenly clammy hand.

 

“Sounds like corporate espionage.” She hummed, delicately changing the subject and avoiding Fallon’s eye.

 

“How can it be corporate espionage if I fucked up my entire corporation?” Fallon questioned, pouring herself more scotch and barely letting it settle in her glass before drinking again.

 

“You didn’t -” Kirby started, but Fallon cut her off.

 

“Holy shit, I don’t feel good.” She hopped up from the couch, rushing off down the hallway into the guest bathroom and slamming the door shut behind her. Kirby waited in silence for a few moments, but then took the sounds of the girl purging her miscalculated whiskey as her cue to start to tidy up. Recapping the bottle and straightening out the cushions, Kirby carefully returned the room to it’s untouched state, and then, with one last look at the hall the Fallon had disappeared down, put out the flames in the fireplace.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, wake up.”

 

Kirby barely had time to process the voice in her room startling her awake before she was blinded by the early morning sun directly in her eyes.

 

“Jesus - _WHY.”_

 

“It’s sunlight. You’re Australian. I’m sure you’ve heard of it.” Fallon’s voice was sharp, and as soon as Kirby processed her words, the smell of coffee flooded her senses and she felt much more forgiving re: the rude awakening.

 

“And can I ask you _why_ you’re blinding me with it at whatever ungodly hour it is?” Kirby croaked, covering her eyes while trying to reach for the mug in Fallon’s hands.

 

“It’s 10:30 in the morning. Are you kidding me?” Fallon stepped back, taking the coffee with her. “You can have this when you can sit up like an adult. We’re going for brunch. You’re coming. Get ready or I’m leaving without you, you have half an hour.” She put the mug down on the dresser, out of the tired redhead’s reach from the bed, and made her exit before Kirby could properly process what exactly she’d been invited to.

 

Too intrigued (and hungover) to deny some free fare and hopefully a Bloody Mary, Kirby hauled herself out of bed and into a quick shower, bringing her coffee with her. The coffee at Jeff’s house was better, she noted, but it did the trick.

 

Fallon was already on her way out the door when Kirby emerged, looking at least a little more alive than she felt, and she rushed to keep up with her in her new (unscored) heels without slipping. Collapsing into her passenger seat, she squinted out the windshield, before finally asking,

 

“Where are we going?”

 

“Buckhead. Ritz-Carlton. Here,” she grabbed the Gucci sunglasses from the center console and dropped them into Kirby’s lap again. “You forgot these last time.”

 

“These aren’t mine. They’re yours, actually.”

 

“You can keep them, they looked better with the blonde, anyway.” She glanced at herself in the rear view mirror, then at the other woman. “Jesus, Kirby, you look like shit.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

Fallon took off without another word.

 

The drive was short, though it felt much longer due to the growing uneasiness in Kirby’s stomach, a combination of leftover emptiness and dehydration slowly taking over.

 

Just as she thought she was about to pass out from the impending headache, they arrived, and hopping out of the cramped car felt like a gift from god.

 

The place was beautiful, and Kirby had to admit that being around Fallon made her feel more like a VIP than being, well, an actual VIP in partying days ever really had. However, being alone with Fallon felt stifled, and awkward, especially given how their previous night together had gone. She wasn’t sure if she should mention it or not, not knowing if the things they’d said to each other, the insecurities they’d admitted, were ‘whiskey-only’ topics that weren’t supposed to be breached during the light of day.

 

Seeing Sam was an immediate relief.

 

“What took you so long?” He asked, and before Kirby could justify their timing, Fallon cut her off.

 

“Her.” she gestured to Kirby. “I’m surprised you’re here first.”

 

“For these mini quiches? I’d be here midnight the night before if they wouldn’t call security.” Sammy glanced at Kirby and did a double take, his eyes landing first on the sunglasses hanging from the collar of her shirt, then dropping to the shoes on her feet, before he turned his gaze critically over to Fallon.

 

“Monica here, yet?” she asked, paying no mind to the incredulous look that he was giving her.

 

“No, she said ‘ten minutes’ ten minutes ago, though, so I’m sure she won’t be long.” he explained as they settled into their seats. He and Fallon launched quickly into a discussion about the people around them, relieving Kirby of the squirming sensation under her skin when he was staring at her like that. She _knew_ the look. The _we will have words_ look. It was rarely good words.

 

Monica arrived shortly after and the four of them fell into comfortable nothingness discussions until the bomb was suddenly dropped, right into the center of the table.

 

“So have you talked to Culhane at all since you called off the wedding?”

 

Everyone looked over at Monica, who glanced up from her juice and blinked, bewildered.

 

“What?”

 

“No,” Fallon responded, stiffly, in that same ‘this isn’t going to be a discussion’ tone that Kirby recognized from the night before. “I haven’t. That’s not my priority right now.”

 

She tapped her fingers against the table, agitated, and Kirby slammed back the remainder of her hot tea to distract herself from her sudden urge to grab her hand and stop her fidgeting for her. The water burned down her throat and ached in her chest, but she kept her face neutral, and cleared her throat. Before she could jump to Fallon’s rescue, the brunette stood up and brushed nonexistent lint from her skirt.

 

“I’m going to get us champagne. The bubble bar should be open by now.”

 

With Fallon gone, Sammy rounded on Monica.

 

“Do you think she’s still mad?”

 

“I think getting publicly dumped after being in a dive bar fight might be taking precedence.” Monica sighed, sitting back in her seat a little. “I feel bad for asking, but she does need to talk to him.”

 

“She will.” Sam sat back as well, and only a moment of silence passed before both he and Monica turned their collective gaze on Kirby instead.

 

“Those are nice glasses.” The other woman commented, and Sam’s lips immediately turned to a smirk.

 

“You should see the shoes.”

 

Monica leaned back from the table and tilted her head to look, and Kirby felt suddenly embarrassed, overcome with the urge to pull her legs up into her chair in her own defense.

 

“That’s a little intense. She didn’t like the ones Cristal gave you?”

 

“I guess not,” Kirby responded, feeling her cheeks heat up.

 

“You know what they say about why people buy women shoes,” Sam sing-songed, turning to grin at Monica.

 

“Yeah, you better watch out before that girl makes you her trophy wife, Kirby.” She laughed softly, but, seeming to sense her mortification, smoothed into the next thought quickly. “I take it that ‘Project Be Fallon’s Friend’ is going well, then?”

 

“Because she gave me shoes? And her hand-me-downs?” Kirby questioned, ignoring the nagging reminder of their very whiskey-oriented evening the night before.

 

“Fallon isn’t exactly… great with _emotional_ giving, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Sam pointed out. “With that kind of money, who needs to waste the breath to say ‘thanks’ when you can just buy them a new bag?”

 

“The shoes were an insult.” Kirby admitted.

 

Monica barely let her finish her thought, before saying, “Fallon wanted to celebrate our fond memories of partying together and bought me a nightclub. We can admit that she expresses herself with the material. We still love her.”

 

“What’re we talking about?” Fallon’s voice caused all three of them at the table to jump a little, as she pulled her seat back out and slid into it.

 

“The guy on your six just realized his wife is here and he’s with his girlfriend.” Sam responded smoothly, “ _don’t_ look now.” he hissed, when Fallon went to whip her head to take a peek.

 

Kirby fell back into silence, pushing the last of her bacon around as she contemplated. The sunglasses felt considerably cheaper than they had when Fallon had first lent them to her. She’d have happily traded them in for another evening by the fireplace instead.

 

* * *

 

Kirby had shut herself in her room when she, Sam, and Fallon returned from brunch, and had been in there for nearly an hour before her father knocked and let himself in.

 

“Fallon said you may need these.” He softly placed a bottle of ibuprofen on the edge of her dresser, regarding her with concern for a moment.

 

“Thanks,” she replied, pulling the blankets up tight to her face until he left, and then climbing out of her bed to pick the bottle up. Had Fallon really been that hungover that she expected Kirby to be too?

 

The pounding in her head was long gone, and the only uneasiness she felt was the grease settling in her stomach that she simply needed to nap off.

 

That, and Sam and Monica’s comments earlier.

 

The next day, over breakfast, Fallon handed her an authentic soft leather glasses case, seemingly without warning.

 

“For the sunglasses. They’re limited edition. Wouldn’t want them getting scuffed up.” She left the room as quickly as she had entered, and Kirby was forced to endure Sam’s knowing stares across the breakfast table on her own.

 

That night, when Fallon was alone in the dining room with the evening paper, Kirby invited her to have a drink, but she declined, citing needing to have an early night to herself.

 

The next morning, though, like clockwork, she brought Kirby a handbag.

 

“Chanel sent it. I need something with more storage. It’s yours, if you want it.”

 

Kirby stared at the bag in her hands for a moment, before her eyes flicked back up to Fallon’s face.

 

“Do you? Want it?”

 

“Yes, thanks.”

 

In lieu of a ‘you’re welcome’, Fallon waved her off, stalking away back toward the foyer of the manor.

 

That next week, another brunch, and then, another evening invitation extended:

 

“A glass of wine. C’mon. Just one. I’m dying of boredom, here. You’ve got like a million TV channels and no TVs that aren’t in an office. Please?”

 

“Not now, Kirby,” Fallon huffed, poring over cancellation forms and gritting her teeth. “This stuff needs to be filled out sooner rather than later and the wedding planner’s already been laid off so I need to get it done.”

 

The morning after that, a dress.

 

“It was to wear to the rehearsal. I can’t look at it anymore. We’re basically the same size, you can get it tailored.” Fallon held the piece up and squinted at the redhead, picturing how it would work on.

 

“I’ll take it off your hands if you hang out with me, tonight. No Sam, no Monica, just champagne. Maybe H’orderves.”

 

Fallon lowered the dress and sighed, steadying a defeated gaze on the other girl.

 

“ _One_ drink. I have too much to do right now. Okay?”

 

Kirby lit up, and then laughed at the reluctant smile that started growing on the other girl’s face.

 

“You can admit that you like hanging out with me. I think pretending it’s an act of charity died off a few brunches ago.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Fallon waved one hand, turning away before her cheeks could turn pink. “Later. I’ll come find you.”

 

* * *

 

“Oh my _god_ ,” Fallon gasped, attempting to tip the remainder of the champagne bottle into her glass and realizing that there were only a few drops left. “How did we finish that bottle?”

 

Kirby laughed - it wasn’t that funny, but the bubbles that felt like they filled her entire being brought it on like a wave.

 

“Becaaaaause,” she stood up, shuffling over to the fridge and pulling out another bottle, “Champagne is the _perfect_ drink.”

 

“Nuh-uh.” Fallon shook her head, closing her eyes for a moment in the immediate regret of the movement. “I mean. It’s _close_ to the perfect drink. It would be more perfect if… you couldn’t get a hangover, maybe?” She phrased her statement as a question, and Kirby whirled around to face her again, grinning.

 

“Are you asking me? Noooo, I _love_ hangovers.” She responded sarcastically, coming back over as she pulled the cage from the top messily. The cork immediately flew from the bottle, shooting across the room and landing somewhere behind the couch.

 

Though it was almost delayed, Fallon yelped in response, before snickering, causing Kirby’s own laughter to double up immediately.

 

“I need you to make that sound again. Please.” She hiccuped through her giggling, causing the other woman to whine.

 

“No, and shut up.”

 

“Guess we’ll have to open another bottle after this so I can scare it out of you again, then.”

 

“You’re really bad at opening champagne, did anyone ever tell you that?”

 

“Oh yeah?” Kirby entertained, refilling both of their flutes. “What else am I really bad at?”

 

“Lying.” Fallon answered, almost immediately. Her tone was confident, and definite. She nodded once, mimicking a serious expression, before her face broke into a smile again. The combination of the other woman grinning, carefree, at her, and the champagne made her own face split into a smile as well.

 

“I’m bad at lying.” Kirby confirmed, hearing her own words slur together. Fallon didn’t seem to mind.

 

“Yeah. You have a very… expressive face. You’re always doin’ big stuff with your face.”

 

Kirby laughed at that, causing Fallon to laugh in response, feeding off of each other like it was contagious.

 

“How do you make everything you say sound like an insult?” She questioned, causing Fallon’s giggling to slow to a stop as she considered.

 

“It wasn’t an insult. It’s a compliment. You have an _esspressive_ face. I _like_ your face.”

 

“Thank you, Fallon,” Kirby mused. “I like your face too.”

 

Fallon turned to her and lifted her glass in an air-cheers to her, and did a double take.

 

“You’re _blushing_ .” She accused. She climbed up close to her face to inspect her, much closer than she’d likely ever been before, and Kirby forgot how to catch her breath for a moment. “Are you that bad at taking a compliment? Does it not… happen that often?” _There_ was the insult, though this time, it was playful.

 

“I can take a compliment, you’re just -”

 

Fallon cut her off, excited and bubbly and mischievous: “You have a _crush_ on me.”

 

“Great theory. By great I mean _very_ stupid.” Kirby squirmed back a few inches, feeling her face heat up even more. She could smell a combination of champagne and perfume on her - she was close enough to nearly fall onto her.

 

“I _told you_ you were a bad liar.” she waved a hand, and Kirby felt like her heart was about to explode at any moment. “You _always_ had a crush on me.”

 

“I think you’ve had enough champagne.” Kirby breathed as the other girl pulled back away from her to settle into her own spot on the couch. “I think _I’ve_ had enough champagne. I think I should turn in.”

 

“Booooooo,” Fallon groaned, putting her half empty flute onto the table in front of her and turning to fix the redhead with a pout as she stood up shakily.

 

“Hey, you’re the one who keeps turning down all my invitations to hang out.” Kirby pointed out, the fog feeling like it was clearing from her brain with each passing second. The panic had a few small perks.

 

“Fine. I won’t anymore. And I promise I won’t make fun of you for your big giant crush on me, either.”

 

“Goodnight, Fallon.”

 

* * *

 

Kirby didn’t see Fallon for two straight days.

 

No matter who she asked, no one seemed to have an answer for her. Not the staff, not Cristal, or even Blake, or Sam.

 

She finally caved and decided, despite the voice in the back of her head _screaming_ at her that it would seem desperate, to text her.

 

 

 

 

 

> Did you skip town without telling me?

 

She paced for the next twenty minutes while she awaited a reply, and was even considering phoning her, when, luckily, a response snapped her out of it.

 

 

 

 

 

> Been busy. You need something?

 

She could almost hear it in Fallon’s voice, and despite the lack of friendliness to the message, it made her feel comfortable.

 

 

 

 

 

> Just bored & looking for you.

 

She winced, immediately regretting her decision but the bubble shot off into the log screen before she could try to put her phone into airplane mode. Fallon didn’t answer that one, and Kirby spent the next hour and a half wallowing in self-pity and mourning the loss of her own dignity.

 

Sam seemed to appear, just when she was considering double-texting, saving her from herself.

 

“Come,” he linked his arm with hers, “We’re going shopping. I know those were a gift,” he gestured to her shoes - the Louboutins from Fallon - and continued, “but you can’t be wearing them every day. Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

 

Confiding in Sam was harder than Kirby had thought it would be. He’d been, really, one of her first friends upon moving back, and while she loved him dearly, the nagging thought that he was close with Fallon kept her from wanting to be completely honest with everything she’d been thinking. Still, he prodded at her.

 

“You and Fallon have been hanging out a lot.” His statement sounded innocent - an observation, really - but Kirby knew it wasn’t in good faith.

 

He didn’t look up from the rack of jackets that he was sifting through, but she could tell he was focused completely on her, awaiting her reaction.

 

“I guess. Not really. She’s busy.”

 

“Yeah, but, I mean you keep sitting out in the guest suite getting drunk together, no?” He looked up, this time. Kirby realized he was watching her face for the right answer. Maybe Fallon had been right.

 

“When she isn’t blowing me off.”

 

“Or shopping for you. Like the sweet trophy wife you are.” He teased, turning his attention back to jackets while Kirby sat on the edge of the nearest bench, deciding that her shuffling her weight around nervously most likely didn’t add to the image that she had nothing to hide.

 

“You should probably find a new nickname before Fallon hears that one,” Kirby suggested.

 

“Why? She already knows you have a crush on her. It’ll even the scales of you both being embarrassed.”

 

Kirby spluttered indignantly for a moment, “I do _not_ have a crush on Fallon. Did she tell you that?”

 

Sam slowly turned to her, his expression blank, if not a little unimpressed. “Do you think _I_ need _her_ to tell me that _you_ have a crush on her?”

 

Kirby stared him down for a moment, the two of them locked in a silent battle of resilience.

 

And then, she cracked.

 

“It’s just a _little_ one.” She said meekly.

 

Sam laughed, turning back around to the jackets and pulling one out. “Fallon’s not going to do anything about it except hold it over your head forever. If you’re trying to get your name on the list, you should probably put a bid in before she decides she’s better off swearing off of everyone.”

 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

 

“Why’s that?” Sam wandered over, holding up an earlier chosen pair of heels and the jacket he’d found to match side by side.

 

“We’ve only just became friends.” Kirby pointed out, taking the items as he handed them to her. “I think we should probably cool it.”

 

“Look,” Sam levelled with her, raising an eyebrow. “I know what Monica told you about the club. But that was when this was a pair of shoes and a hand-me-down dress. Not late nights alone and… sugar mama status. If the two of you don’t get your feelings out in the open, whatever they are, you’re going to end up with your own mansion on some island that Fallon bought for you, while she’s simultaneously not taking your calls.”

 

Kirby shrugged the jacket he had suggested on, toeing off her heels and bending down to grab the matching ones.

 

“She already knows you like her. You’re not telling her anything she doesn’t know. And if you’re still friends, now, what’s the problem?”

 

“Please stop being right, Sam.”

 

* * *

 

“Hey,” Fallon barely glanced up at Kirby on the staircase as she walked in the door, hiking her purse up onto her shoulder a little more. “I have something for you.”

 

“I bet,” Kirby sighed under her breath, stepping closer down a few more stairs as Fallon dug around in her bag and then produced a small box.

 

“I can’t wear them.” She insisted, watching as Kirby turned the tiny velvet white box around in her fingers and popped it open, eyes widening slightly at the glittering amethyst earrings kept inside.

 

“I don’t - this is too much.” She held the box back out quickly, before the temptation to keep them overcame her.

 

“No, seriously,” Fallon’s voice sounded more stern, now, almost annoyed, “Take them. They’re yours.”

 

“I don’t want them.” Kirby insisted, holding the box out still, but Fallon made no movement to take it back. “You don’t have to keep giving me gifts. Okay? I get it. We’re friends.”

 

“My _friends_ usually aren’t ungrateful, so, I don’t know about that.” Fallon swiped the box out of the other woman’s hand with two fingers, tossing it back into her purse like it were her key fob.

 

Kirby felt goosebumps prick up across her arms and neck, and crossed her hands around herself quickly. It was chilling, seeing Fallon so genuinely displeased with her after such a long streak of venom-free insults and genuine compliments.

 

“I’m not being ungrateful. I just don’t appreciate being paid off for you not wanting to hang out.”

 

Fallon’s face went from cold irritation to outraged disbelief in seconds. “Are you serious? You think that you can just tell me you have a crush on me and I’m going to drop everything to make sure I have time for you?”

 

“I never said I had a crush on you, Fallon,” Kirby snapped, losing control of her volume and emotions at an alarming rate. “ _You_ said I had a crush on you.”

 

“Oh my g - What _ever_. Get a grip. Sorry for trying to be nice to you. I won’t make that mistake again.”

 

“Do you not know how to be nice without shoving money at someone?” Kirby shot back. “No wonder you can’t connect with anyone. The entire time you hated me, I thought it was all my fault. I wish someone had told me you just can’t build a relationship with someone that you can’t categorize as an enemy or an employee.”

 

She only saw a split second of the hurt that passed over Fallon’s face before turning on her heel and stomping up the stairs.

 

Her bed welcomed her with open arms as she slammed her door shut and collapsed into it, compartmentalizing her sadness and anger into separate thoughts, focusing first on the irritation that this girl, _the bitch_ , had the _nerve_ to talk to her the way that she did. But when the rage subsided, all that was left was to feel sorry for herself - which was increasingly difficult as her brain continued to flood with the image of Fallon’s face before she’d left her at the bottom of the stairs. Whatever chance she had of Fallon ever confiding in her again, even if their friendship survived this argument, was gone.

 

Nights with champagne or something harder, working through every traumatizing or hopeful thought that either of them had were officially off the table. Desperate, and crazed for a moment, Kirby sat up and considered finding Fallon to apologize before everything she’d said had a chance to properly start sewing it’s seeds in the other woman’s mind. However, when she opened her bedroom door, she heard the front door swing open and slam shut again, and knew that Fallon had stepped out again.

 

* * *

 

 

Dinner hadn’t been tense like the next evening for several months.

 

Everyone could feel it, but with Fallon and Kirby sitting directly across from one another and managing to not make eye contact no matter who was speaking, another level of thickness had been added to the air.

 

“Did you ask about the deposit return like you planned?” Alexis asked, causing everyone except for Fallon to look up quickly.

 

Taking her sweet time, pushing leftover food around her plate for a moment, Fallon smirked slowly, wryly, and shrugged.

 

“I did. They aren’t going to go for it but I might try again. If I love one thing, it’s throwing my money around.”

 

She didn’t look at Kirby, but that didn’t stop her from feeling like she’d been verbally shoved back.

 

Feeling petty, Kirby lifted her own water glass in an air-cheers to Fallon, who simply huffed under her breath.

 

“I need to be excused.”

 

She stood quickly, flinging her napkin down onto her barely eaten food, and stormed out of the dining room.

 

“Wonder what that’s about,” Blake commented, his eyes flicking over to Sam, who simply raised his hands and shook his head.

 

“I didn’t do anything. I’ll go check on her.” he assured them, leaving his own seat and following the path Fallon had taken through the manor.

 

“I’d also like to be excused.” Kirby didn’t wait for an answer, getting up out of her seat quickly and shuffling off before Alexis could figure out whichever insult she wanted to use for the situation.

 

Sam found her before she found Fallon, and he steered her off away from the main bedrooms toward the staircase.

 

“When I told you to tell her how you felt, I meant y’know. That you _had_ feelings for her. Not that you were tired of her playing dress up with you.”

 

“Well I had to say something!” Kirby insisted, trying to keep her voice down as the distress threatened to crack through her stage whispering.

 

“Okay, well just. Leave her be for now. She’s already insulted, you don’t need to offend her any more.”

 

“Fine.” She sighed, reaching for Sam’s arm as he turned to head back toward the bedroom. “Wait, can you just - put in a good word? Maybe about how sorry I seemed or whatever?”

 

Sam chuckled. “I don’t think she wants to talk about you anymore than she wants to talk _to_ you, right now.” Her face must’ve fallen into something particularly pathetically sad, because he caved, and sighed. “I’ll do what I can. But seriously, stay out of her way until she wants to talk. Okay?”

 

“Okay, fine! I’ll avoid her like the plague.”

 

 _And she did_ keep true to her word, letting Fallon stomp around the house angrily and scoff at her every time she accidentally came into her view. In fact, a few days later when she seemed particularly more angry than usual, it was the first time that Kirby broke her silence on mentioning Fallon.

 

“I know I’m not supposed to ask, but, is she… okay?” Kirby paused, listening to the distinct sounds of Fallon grumbling into her phone and stomping around the main foyer. She and Sam were in the middle of what had been a fairly intense poker match in the main den, sitting across from one another on a floor. “That wasn’t all me, was it? I know her default is pretty mean, but, this seems excessive.”

 

Sam sighed, setting his cards down in front of him facedown, and leaned forward to lower his voice.

 

“Don’t repeat this. She got a wedding invite from someone she went to high school with and they addressed it to _Mr and Mrs Culhane_. I’m pretty sure the Zoloft is the only thing keeping her in beast mode instead of just crying.”

 

“Yikes,” Kirby breathed, freezing on the spot and glancing up when the stomping stopped, waiting for a sign of life before continuing to scan the cards before her.

 

“You guys are just hanging out in here? On the floor?” Fallon startled both of them badly enough to each drop their hand of cards, effectively ending the game for the time being. She sniffed loudly, though it seemed more sickness than sadness, and lifted the wine bottle she’d been holding out of their view to her lips. “Without me?” she said, her voice echoing into the glass before she took a sip.

 

“Did you want to join us? We need a dealer.” Sam offered, ignoring Kirby’s knee colliding hintingly into his thigh.

 

“No,” Fallon sighed lightly, though she did come into the den and perch herself on the edge of the couch to watch them.

 

Kirby, closer to her, tensed up immediately and sat stiffly as Sam handed her new cards. Peeking at them carefully, then sneaking a glance over her shoulder at Fallon sitting behind her, she scooted forward and reached for the bowl of popcorn open beside them both.

 

“Don’t be paranoid. What am I gonna do, tell him your cards? I think you might be able to lose this one without my assistance.” Fallon practically sneered at her, though Kirby was lucky that she couldn’t see her roll her eyes.

 

The gesture made Sam chuckle, though, and Fallon immediately stood up, eyes narrowing.

 

“I’m going to bed. Have fun without me.”

 

* * *

 

 

Woken up from an afternoon nap by the sound of someone knocking on her door, and expecting her father, Kirby groaned: “Come in”.

 

Stretching lazily and rolling onto her back, she glanced at the time on her phone, before her eyes flew open and she sat up quickly, seeing Fallon standing in her doorway.

 

“Uh -”

 

“Don’t. You don’t have to say anything. I need to talk for a minute.”

 

Kirby closed her mouth, scooting back in her bed a little as Fallon stepped closer.

 

“I’m… sorry. For treating you like a charity case. Or a dress up doll. Or whatever else.” She settled lightly on the edge of the bed. “I don’t always do the best job of expressing when I care about other people. You were in Idaho. You know this.

 

“It’s just that I can’t - ‘the timing isn’t great’ is such a terrible excuse, because waiting for timing is for idiots. And lazy people who don’t want to have to take responsibility for how they’re feeling or how to react properly.

 

“I really miss hanging out with you. And I miss having someone I can actually talk to. It’s not the same with anyone else, and I think - I think that really scared me to think that after the year that I’ve just had, with Cristal, and Michael, and then Steven, and Liam, that I really _really_ wanted to put my trust in another person like that. It’s not an excuse. Just an explanation.”

 

“Fallon,” Kirby started, letting go of the sheets that she hadn’t realize she’d been clutching in her fists. “I’m not… going anywhere. We’re friends. Even if you were awful, I don’t really have the options to be picky, right now.” She dipped her head to try to catch the other girl’s eye, smiling in relief when she saw a hint of amusement cross her face.

 

She waited for the brunette to look up and catch her eye, before promising her: “We’re good, okay? You can talk to me.”

 

Fallon sighed, closing her eyes before smiling properly and nodding once. “Good. Thank you.” She stood up, and Kirby felt her disappointment surge up into her chest.

 

“So since we’re friends, don’t get mad. But I have something for you.”

 

Already rolling her eyes, Kirby opened her mouth to protest, but her complaint died in her throat when Fallon pulled a frame out from inside of her jacket and held it out.

 

“I promise you, the frame is from Anthropologie. Not even expensive. It’s guilt-free.”

 

The frame itself was beautiful, but Kirby was _certain_ that Fallon could hear her heart pounding in her chest from where she was sitting across from her. Within what was clearly the _handmade_ stone and gold leaf piece nested a photo from Fallon’s birthday portrait shoot - an outtake of the two of them holding one another’s arms in an attempt to step in front of each other toward the camera. The photo itself was stunning and flattering - caught at just the right moment, the two of them both looked serious but sultry, their arms tangled up looking less like the irritated wrestling match that had ensued and more like a high-fashion ‘best friends’ sort of shoot.

 

“I figured it would be a placeholder. We can take a nicer one.”

 

“No, I - I love this,” Kirby took in every detail of it, smiling to herself. “It’s very _us_.”

 

“I’m not exactly sure what the _us_ brand is,” Fallon admitted, “but -”

 

Kirby cut her off, setting the photo aside from them both and propping herself up against Fallon’s thigh to kiss her cheek.

 

The brunette froze, and for a long moment, Kirby had never regretted anything more in her entire life. But then, a simultaneous moment of relief and giddy excitement washed over her when Fallon turned her head and returned the gesture - though in typical Carrington fashion, having to outdo her - and caught her lips with her own.

 

Kirby’s fingers tightening around her thigh seemed to snap her out of it, pulling back just as the other woman started to deepen the kiss, and smiled at her.

 

“I think that’s a good start. If you have any more marketable ideas please let me know.”

 

Kirby huffed out a single, quiet laugh, eyes still fixated on Fallon’s lips.

 

“I have _plenty_ of ideas, but I think this is a good start.”

 

Fallon pulled back a little to look at her, her face a little more serious than it had been a moment before. “I do too,” she agreed. “I like this. Let’s start with this.”

 

Kirby nodded, trying to calm her heart rate. The message was clear, and despite how happy she’d have been to spend the rest of the day exactly as they were, she’d already promised Fallon earlier: she wasn’t going to go anywhere.

 

“Yeah. No point rushing anything.”

 

“Good, we’re in agreement, then.” Fallon tried to downplay the blush on her cheeks and neck, patting them both down with the backs of her hands as she stood up from the bed. “I’ll let you get back to your nap.”

 

“Fallon, you’re blushing.”

 

“I’m warm.”

 

The redhead grinned wickedly. “You have a crush on me.”

 

Fallon pursed her lips, looking up at the ceiling as if thinking it over for a moment. “Great theory. You might be onto something.” She pivoted before she could embarrass herself any further and marched back out of the room, closing the door behind her.

 

Chuckling to herself, Kirby turned to pick up the photo frame again and propped it up on her nightstand, before slipping out of the bed and wandering over to her open wardrobe. Tugging the cork-design teal and gold Louboutins from bottom shelf, she turned them over and pulled her nail file from the desk drawer, not allowing herself time to hesitate before she began scoring the soles. She watched the tip of the file carve divots into the red bottoms with a sort of warm feeling of comfort passing over her. Fallon was going to have a fit when she noticed, but Kirby didn’t plan to trade them in anytime soon.


End file.
